Death and a Guardian Angel
by Jimmy Candlestick
Summary: It began out as a normal day for the boys. Joe just made a joke, and they were laughing, while driving down the road. Suddenly, while on a bridge the car flips. Not five minutes later, Frank is shot. Anonymous reviews allowed. FINISHED.
1. Prologue

The man was big. About 6' 4". He had black hair, gray eyes, and a gun. A rifle, actually. A rifle with a scope. He was watching a bridge. A concrete, arched bridge, that had been placed over a river. A very pretty river that was not brown, and had trees scantily lining the banks.

It looked like a park. It would've been especially pretty if the road had been dirt, and the bridge wooden. But, sadly, it was not. Which is why very few photographers, who wanted very scenic pictures, stopped there. Because the road was in fact asphalt, and the bridge, concrete. If the bridge was mad up of stones stacked together, and the road dirt, it would've been much nicer. Though, I myself would've preferred it to be a wooden bridge, for brown is a much nicer scenic color, than varying shades of gray. However, on its behalf, stones would've been very quaint.

But, the bridge and road can not be helped, because we live in a modern age. Which includes concrete bridges, asphalt roads, and guns. Which means that we must get on with the story. And the man. And our two young heroes, whom the man is waiting for.

A yellow mustang convertible presently arrived, and was being driven by a black haired teenager, toward the bridge. Beside him was another young man, blond and slightly younger. Both were smiling and laughing as if they didn't have a care in the world.

The man smiled as he cocked his sniper rifle. Making a quick calculation, he aimed and fired. The right front tire of the car suddenly gave out, and the car careened out of control. It flipped, and landed with one side propped up against the side of the bridge.

He watched with satisfaction as the boys slowly crawled out of the car. This was the time that Fenton Hardy would pay for finding his boy, and putting him in jail. The judge put his boy on death row. Now, his boy was dead. And Fenton Hardy had to pay for that. The only question was, which boy would he shoot?

There was eighteen-year-old Frank. He was the first born with black hair and brown eyes. He was also the most serious and intellectual one. Looking at Frank through the scope, the man realized how much he was reminded of his own son.

Shaking the feeling off, he turned the scope toward the blonde. That was Joe. Seventeen years old, and very impetuous. The man smiled. If he killed the younger one, then Frank would be overcome with guilt for not watching his baby brother more carefully.

He cocked the gun again. But he didn't shoot. Joe had bent down to look a the tire. Frank walked to the far side of the bridge, and pulled out his cell-phone. The man didn't know why, but he aimed for the older boy's neck, and pulled the trigger.

Joe looked back just in time to see his older brother flip over the railing. He thought he heard a dull crack, but wasn't paying attention. He was already pulling off his shoes and jacket. Joe raced over and jumped into the river after Frank.

In the water, he opened his eyes just in time to see Frank's dark hair sink out of sight. Swimming deeper, he grabbed his brother, and started dragging him to the surface, and the bank. On firm ground, Joe noticed that Frank wasn't breathing. After performing mouth-to-mouth for several anxious moments, Frank finally coughed up water. His eyes flickered open momentarily before shutting.

"Frank! Frank!" Joe cried fruitlessly, shaking his brother lightly.

"Is he dead?" Joe jerked hi head up at the sound of a deep male voice.

"Well?" The man said after a few moments of silence. "If he isn't, I can shoot him again."

Slightly puzzled, Joe looked down at his brother again. It was then that he noticed the blood coming out of Frank's neck. He began to see red.

Sub-consciously, he put some mud over the wound, before rushing the man. He let out a cry of rage, almost the exact same moment the bullet hit him. But that didn't slow him. A brief, but violent, struggle followed. Joe ended up rending his opponent senseless. Using his belt to tie the man's hands, Joe placed the gun in the water.

Then, he half carried, half-dragged Frank back up to the bridge. Noting that he lost his cell-phone in the river, he picked up his brother's which was still lay on the ground. He dialed 911, then called his father. After making the calls, he limped painfully back to his brother.

Relieved to still find a pulse, Joe began to take Frank's jacket and shirt off. Not much caring for his own discomfort, he grabbed the jacket that he had discarded before jumping into the river, and wrapped it around Frank. He then hugged his brother close to him, and just waited for help to arrive.


	2. ch1 Anselm

When Frank opened his eyes, he was being held by a complete stranger. What's more, this stranger was wearing clothes that belonged to the medieval ages. But, when Frank woke up, he was leaning against the man. Therefore, Frank could only see the mans clothes up close, and could not tell what he looked like.

Besides the fact that he was leaning against a stranger, the other thing he noticed, was his huge and ginormous headache, and a sharp pain in his neck. Grimacing, he reached his hand up to the spots, intending to rub some relief to the pain.

"How do you feel?" The stranger asked, seeing that he was awake.

Frank stopped his hand and looked up into the man's face. He blinked in surprise; this was not a man as he had first suspected, but rather, a boy his age.

"How do you feel?" he asked again, his voice sounding younger than before.

"Um…Not too hot." The stranger raised his eyebrows in amusement at the statement. "My head is killing me, and my neck feels…I dunno, weird," Frank finished, raising himself to a sitting position. It was then that he looked at his companion more closely.

He took in the strange clothing, which included a dark green, heavy tunic, brown pants, knee-high black boots, a brown belt, a sword, a bow and arrows, and a black weather stained cape. The stranger himself, was not only Frank's age, but about his size and weight too. He was tanned, well built, and had dark hair. But what captivated Frank the most, were the eyes.

They were so young, yet so old and wise. They were filled with so much joy, and it almost looked like it reflected something incredibly glorious. And the color…they didn't seem to be any particular color. It was more like all the colors in the world and then some.

And then there was the way he watched Frank so attentively. Protectively, like their dad watched them when he or Joe had just been rescued from someone that had held them hostage. He supposed it should've made him uncomfortably to wake up with a splitting headache to find someone he didn't know watching him so intently. But it didn't. As a matter of fact, it had the opposite effect. It was actually quite comforting.

Until he realized that Joe wasn't there. This, of course, made him sit up and look around wildly.

"Joe. Where's Joe?!" He asked anxously.

The stranger pushed him back gently. "Joe's not here. I need you to sit back and relax."

"Relax?" Frank asked incredously. "Something made me fall off a bridge! That something could hurt Joe! I need to find him!"

"You won't find Joe."

Frank looked at him disbelieving. "What are you talking about? I don't even know you! Where's Joe?"

His companion seemed to ponder the questions for a moment before answering. "I can't tell you what this is all about. And I know you don't know me, but I've known you all your life. My name is Anselm. Don't worry about Joe. He's all right. Better than you actually."

Frank thought this over while taking in his surroundings. They were in a forest by a river. Looking both up and down the river, he was alarmed to find that the bridge was not in sight.

"The bridge…" he said, scrambling to his feet.

He then suddenly realized that something fairly heavy was on his back and was gently swinging. This made him look down and back. Upon doing so, he saw that he was dressed similarly to Anselm. His boots and cape were also black and his pants brown, but his tunic was a dark blue. He also did not have a sword, or bow and arrows. He was armed with a simple, sharp, hunting knife.

Not only did this make him confused, but also quite mad.

Angrily, he turned on Anselm, demanding, "What is this? Some kind of sick joke? It's not funny! Where's Joe, and why are you dressed like that? Why am I dressed like this?"

Anselm looked into his eyes, and Frank thought he saw a flicker of sadness and even some anger. He rose from his position and answered, "I wish it was a joke. Joe's being taken care of. Both your mother and father have seen him. We are dressed like this because it is the year 1405."

Frank interrupted him before he could continue, "No it's not! It's 2007! Tell me what's going on now!"

He stopped. Shocked, he realized that he had spoken in anger and was yelling. He had also grabbed Anselm's shirt, and had pulled back his arm, intending to throw a punch. This was wrong. He never did that. He always took the situation calmly. What on earth was going on?

Anselm, very calmly and gently, pried Frank's hand off his shirt. Frank began to tremble. For the first time, he realized that he was very scared. He sank down onto the ground.

"I don't understand. I-I never react like that. At least, only if someone's attacking me. What's wrong?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see Anselm smiling at him.

"It's alright," Anselm said. "Everything's going to be fine. But, we mustn't linger. We are too close to Morte's land. Too close for comfort. Come."

Getting up, Frank looked at his new friend in confusion. "Morte? Who is that?"

"He prefers to be called Lord Morte," Anselm answered grimly. "He's a Franc. What you call French in 2007. He is also our enemy. Though right now, he is more your enemy than mine. Actually, he's not even really my enemy," He said as they started walking.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank inquired.

"It means that he can't hurt me. I am protected from him."

Frank gave an exasperated sight. "How come you're completely protected, and I'm not?"

Anselm just smiled.

Frank looked at his strange companion and shook his head. He mused, "Morte, huh?"

Anselm nodded.

"And he's French."

"He is."

"Hm. Isn't 'morte' French for death?"

"Yes."

"That's a funny name. Does he, uh, does he have very many friends?" The young sleuth inquired.

"No. Well, more than you expect. Though, I can assure you, not very many of them are humans."

"What?" Frank said in puzzlement. "How can only a few of them be humans? Don't tell me he owns magic dragons!"

Anselm shook his head, "Not dragons. Something much, much worse."

Frank looked at him, fear etched in his face, "What?"

His friend just smiled.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes. Frank found his thoughts drifting towards Joe and the bridge.

"What do you remember?" The question jerked him out of his thoughts.

"What do you remember?" Anselm asked again.

"Um, not much. Well, some," Frank said. "Let's see….We were driving home from Shore Road, and a bridge came up. Joe had just made a joke, and we were both laughing, when one of the tires gave out. The car flipped and landed upside down leaning against the railing. We crawled out, and Joe began to look at the tire. I walked over to the other side and pulled out my phone to call for help. Next thing I knew, something hit the side of my neck, and I was falling off the bridge. I think I hit my head. Why?"

Anselm shrugged. "I just wanted to know what you remembered."

Frank started to nod but was suddenly overcome with pain. He sank down, unable to bear it.

"What's wrong?" He heard Anselm ask anxiously. The weird thing was, it sounded far away and close at the same time.

But Frank was in too much pain to think about it. All he wanted to do was let go of consciousness. Just so he could be rid of the pain.

"Frank! Stay with me! Don't let go! You must stay awake! It will pass soon." He felt someone hug him tightly, as Anselm instructed him to stay awake.

Frank blinked his eyes open after what seemed like hours. But in reality, it had only been a few moments.

Anselm looked down at him worriedly. "Don't ever let go if that happens again," he ordered.

"Okay," Frank whispered. He took deep breaths, as if he had just ran a good distance.

Anselm's face softened. "Come on. A few more miles, and there's an inn we can stop at." He helped Frank up as he spoke.

"Good," Frank said. "I'm tired, hungry, and thirsty."

His companion smiled grimly. "You can eat and drink. But whatever you do, Frank, you mustn't sleep."


	3. ch2 Condition

He had been fighting to stay awake when he heard the sirens. An ambulance arrived with three police cars and his dad's car right behind it. Joe started to lay Frank down, but the pain from the gunshot wound stopped him. He had managed to stop the bleeding, noting that the bullet had just grazed him.

He heard doors open and slam shut, as he checked Frank's pulse for the millionth time. It was still there. Weak and slow.

"Joe!" He jerked his head up at the sound of his father's voice.

"Dad," he croaked. For the first time since seeing Frank fall into the river, he began to cry.

Even though the paramedics had gotten out first, Fenton Hardy reached the boys first. When he saw the tears running down Joe's cheeks and Frank's pale face, the senior detective was almost positive that his heart stopped.

He knelt down beside his sons and asked, "What happened?"

"Sir, we need you to move," a paramedic said before Joe could answer.

They quickly got to work, putting Frank on a stretcher and checking both the boy's injuries. By this time, the police officers had joined them. Chief Collig had come as well and was now standing next to Fenton. They both saw the bullet wounds.

"Joe," he looked up at his father. "Who shot you?"

The blonde's voice cracked as he answered, "By the river. His gun's under water."

Chief Collig signaled for two men to go check. The EMT's were ready to move the boys to the hospital. With Frank on the stretcher, Joe had to lay on the bench in the side of the ambulance. Fenton wanted to ride with the boys, but he had driven his car to the bridge. That kind of created a little problem.

"Fenton," he looked over to Chief Collig, "give me the keys. I'll have one of the boys take the car."

The detective gave a brief, thankful smile and jumped into the ambulance. Inside, Joe had propped himself against the wall, watching one of the paramedics work on Frank, while the other checked him out. Fenton sat down beside his youngest son and looked at the EMT.

Recognizing the look, the woman smiled. "He'll be fine, Mr. Hardy," she said. "It passed through without damaging anything."

It was only then that Joe realized that his father was there, he turned to face him. All Fenton could see on his son's face, was fear. He put an arm around the boy's shoulder and let Joe lean against him.

"What happened Joe?" he asked gently.

Joe was silent for a moment before answering, "We were just driving when got to the bridge, and the tire went out. I think he shot it. The car flipped, and when it landed, we crawled out. I bent down to check the tire, and Frank said he was going to call someone." He took a deep shaking breath, before continuing. "That was when he shot Frank. I turned around-" Joe started to cry at this point.

Realizing that this must've been the time that Frank fell into the river, the detective hugged his son tighter. "It's alright Joe," he said. "You don't have to tell me right now. It's okay."

Swallowing back the lump in his throat and blinking the tears away, Joe shook his head and went on, "I saw Frank go over the railing. It almost looked like he was being pushed. I jumped in after him, and I had to pull him out of the river. Dad, he almost drowned. "He took another deep breath. "He had opened his eyes for a second and closed them almost immediately. I tried to wake him up again, but I couldn't. Then, the guy was standing there and was asking me if he was dead." Fenton heard the anger creep up in Joe's voice. "I don't really know what happened next. I tackled him, and I knocked him out. I think that's when he shot me."

Fenton digested the information slowly. He watched as the paramedics busied themselves, keeping Frank alive. He realized that he had been so engrossed with the story, that he hadn't been paying any attention to the battle for his eldest son's life. He wanted to ask so badly how Frank was but didn't want to distract the EMT's in any way at all.

As he sat there, thinking and watching, he felt the vehicle slow then stop. The doors burst open and they rushed Frank in. Another team helped Joe onto a gurney and brought him in, with his father close behind.

Entering the hospital, Fenton saw his wife waiting. She hurried to Joe's side, as they briskly transported him to one of the rooms. Although the EMT had checked him over and said that he would be fine, a doctor and nurse came in, to make sure he was alright. It was only when they left, that Laura Hardy said anything at all.

"Joe, baby, are you alright?" She asked, holding his hand and caressing his cheek.

He gave her a weak smile and answered, "I'm fine, Mom. Just tired."

Fenton walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Someone tried to kill the boys Laura."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," he said, sighing. "I don't even know who he is. But the police have him in custody. Don't worry."

Laura looked at her husband like he was crazy. "Don't worry?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Hardy?" They all looked up to see a pretty young nurse in her twenties, standing in the doorway. At the moment, her face was grim.

"Frank…" Laura began.

The nurse smiled slightly. "At the moment, he's in surgery. The doctor will see you when he's out."

"Will he be okay?" Fenton inquired.

The small smile faded. "We hope so. Normally, if it was just a bullet wound, we'd only have to worry about blood loss, and torn muscle. But, it appears he may also have suffered a head injury. I wish I could give you more details, but you'll have to wait for the doctor."

The girl left the family with their thoughts and prayers. Losing track of time, they weren't sure how long they had waited when the doctor arrived.

He was a man in his fifties with graying brown hair. Now, he looked at the family's anxious faces. "Mr. and Mrs. Hardy," he began. "I'm Dr. Hanson. The surgery went well, we extracted the bullet without a problem. However, it appears he hit his head. You see, Frank has suffered a head injury, and is now in a coma."

"What?!" Joe exclaimed. His mother just slowly sank down onto the bed, while his father just stood there. They were all shocked.

Dr. Hanson stood there for a minute or two. He had delivered this news several times before to different families, and the reaction had been more or less the same. And now, as usual, he hoped that he would not have to deliver even worse news to the family. The boys or their father had been put in the hospital with severe injuries before, but this was by far the worst any of them had been.

"Your son's in the ICU. Room 105. You can see him whenever you're ready."

Fenton looked up. "Thank you Doctor."

Dr. Hanson nodded and left.


	4. ch3 Angels

For some odd reason, Frank had been thinking that the inn would be in the middle of the forest, with no other buildings to accompany it. However, since he had read any books set in this time period, he should have known that an inn was almost always in a town or small village. They were also usually quite large buildings, about two or three stories, with stables and a courtyard. They also had a large common room, in which the weary travelers would gather to hear stories, songs, news, and what not. The innkeeper would also serve many a tankard of ale and food to the guests.

This inn was no exception. Though the sun was setting, Frank and Anselm saw quite a few housewives and men still talking with the children playing together around them, while they were walking to the inn of The Dancing Bear; the sign above the door portrayed a dancing bear.

Looking at this, Frank had to smile. "A dancing bear. Where do they come up with the names?" he asked.

Anselm chuckled as he answered, "I can assure you, I don't know. Thought it does seem that most of them involve animals."

Suddenly, he stopped. Face grim, he looked at the horses in front of the inn.

"Anselm?" Frank said. It slightly disturbed him to have his friend do this. "Anselm, what's wrong?" he tried again.

After a moment of silence, Anselm answered, "Those horses. They belong to Morte's men."

Frank was puzzled. "Okay. Listen, Anselm, I know you said Morte was my enemy an' all, but, I just got here. How could his men know I'm here and what I look like?"

Anselm grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alley before replying, "Do you remember when I told you I knew you all your life?"

Frank nodded.

"Well, the same goes for Morte. Frank, Morte's been waiting for this day for a long time."

Frank looked at him dubiously. Then he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he muttered, "This is one weird dream."

Anselm looked ever so slightly shocked. "You think this is a dream?"

"Yeah. I've been knocked out before and had weird dreams- then waking up. So, any minute now I'm going to wake up, and Morte isn't going to touch me," he said this with confidence, but the look on Anselm's face make him nervous. "Right?"

"No Frank," his companion answered quietly. "This _is_ like a dream, but it's not. It's far more real."

Now Frank was scared. "What do you mean more real?"

"Frank, this isn't just a game of hide and seek between us and Morte. This is a battle for your life. Morte has his name because he is death."

Frank didn't know why, but he was breathing heavily now. "Why? Why is he after me?"

"Frank, you're in a coma."

Those words were like a punch in the stomach. Frank paled considerably and sank down to the ground for the second time that day. As like before, Anselm sat also.

"When you hit your head, you suffered some head trauma."

Frank looked at Anselm and asked, "Am I going to die?"

Anselm was silent for a moment. Then he answered, "The Father holds all time in His hands, as He holds you as well. No matter the outcome, you can trust Him."

Frank nodded, not sure if this was a comfort or not. Suddenly he asked, "You won't leave me, will you?"

Smiling, Anselm shook his head, "No, I won't. The Father sent me to protect you."

"Who's the Father?" Frank inquired.

"Don't you know?"

Frank shook his head.

"It's God."

Frank's face was blank. Then it dawned on him, and he hit his head lightly. "Of course! How can I not know that? That's what our pastor always calls him!"

Anselm chuckled. "I know. I'm always there when he says it."

Frank nodded, then stopped. "Wait-you're always there? I never see you."

"I know."

"Then, how do you know?"

"Well, Frank, I thought you would've guessed it by now. I'm your guardian angel."

As soon as he said that, Frank's expression became one of awe. This puzzled Anselm at first. When a human first enters Heaven, usually the first person they see is God. And since God is so incredibly awe-inspiring, beautiful, and wonderful, when the human sees an angel, they almost think nothing of it.

However, Frank had not seen God yet. Anselm mentally berated himself for this. He now recalled the stories that the arch-angel Gabriel would tell of when he delivered the Father's messages. Gabriel said that every one of the recipients were awed by his appearance.

"Uh, Frank?" Anselm said, after a moment of awkward silence.

"Yeah?"

"Can you just forget I said that, and act like I'm just a normal person?"

Frank smiled sheepishly. "Sure."

"Good. Now, let's get out of this alley. Morte's men might leave soon, and they can practically smell the targets of their master."

"Okay. Hey, Anselm?"

"Yes?"

"I'm still hungry."

The angel laughed. "Come along. I know someone that can feed us."

They quickly walked down the abandoned dark street. Anselm seemed to know the village well, for he took Frank through many alleyways, and even a few peoples' gardens. Finally, they came to a small cottage just outside of the town.

Anselm walked up to the door and knocked. The door swung open, revealing a tall fair-haired man in his mid thirties. Like Anselm, he was well built and in good shape. His eyes, also, were ageless, wise, joyful, colorful and revealed that he had seen the most glorious sight ever to be seen.

When the man saw who it was that knocked, he smiled. "Anselm!"

"Pelagius!"

The two greeted each other like old friends that had not seen one another in quite some time. They embraced, and Pelagius turned his attention to Frank.

"I take it this is Frank," he said, addressing Anselm.

"Yes it is."

Pelagius nodded and smiled. "Come in. You look hungry."

Frank took an immediate liking to the man and before he could stop himself, asked, "Are you and angel too?"

Pelagius turned with a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "Did Anselm tell you?"

Frank nodded.

The older angel looked at Anselm. "You've had a run-in with Morte's men, haven't you."

Anselm shrugged. "Not exactly. We almost walked into an inn where some of them are."

"Hmm….That could've turned out bad."

"Pelagius!" A new voice called. "Who was at the door?"

Smiling, Anselm answered, "Just me Joy."

"Anselm?"

Frank looked up to see a woman come through a door. She was plump with rosy cheeks and a jolly look. Her hair was brown and tied up in a bun. She came through the door wiping her hands on an apron which told Frank that she must've come from the kitchen. The aroma of apple pie wafted through the room.

"Anselm! It's so good to see you! And who is this?" She said, greeting them.

Anselm embraced the kindly woman while replying, "This is Frank, my charge."

"Why hello Frank," she said cheerfully.

"Hi." Now that she was closer, Frank could see that she had eyes like Pelagius and Anselm. Was he always surrounded by angels, like he was now?

Smiling like a child in a candy shop, the woman, seemingly reading his mind, said, "Yes, I'm an angel. Anything else you'd like to know?"

Frank could feel the color creep into his cheeks. He had one question. "Why is your name so," he searched for the right word. "Normal? It's not different like theirs," he said gesturing toward Anselm and Pelagius.

She chuckled. "It's not normal. It's short for, Isemay Jolicia Joya."

She laughed all the more at Frank's astonished face. She turned to go back into the kitchen.

"Come into the kitchen lads," she called. "We'll have some stew and apple pie."

Having dinner with angels is like nothing Frank had ever experienced. It was incredibly joyful, and Frank felt more safe and secure than ever. He even heard stories that he never thought he'd ever hear. At his request, they told Frank about the flood: all the animals on the ark, what it was like. They told him about Moses, and the parting of the Red sea; all the water just separated and formed huge walls. David and Goliath- the fear felt in the soldiers as they hid in their tents from the giant. And then David came, full of faith and the courage of God and he defeated the giant.

After all these stories, they got to Jesus. His miracles, His teachings, and finally, His crucifixion. Frank could feel the sadness and pain in the story. But all that changed when they got to the resurrection. They were quite excited about that part. They joy showed; Frank could feel it. They obviously loved the Father and Jesus. Talking about how the resurrection conquered death comforted Frank.

Soon the conversation turned to the present dilemma.

"You can't stay here," Pelagius said. "With the Father on our side, we'd be able to hold them off, however, they may find a way to get Frank."

"Yes," Anselm mused. For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the crackle of the fire. Joy rose from her seat.

"I'll take care of the dishes," she said, gathering the plates and utensils.

Anselm spoke up, "We can take horses. We'll pack some supplies and travel around. We'd be constantly on the move. If we spotted some of Morte's men, we could run for it."

Pelagius thought about this for a moment, before nodding his consent. "Alright. However, I don't like the idea of you traveling alone. I'll go with you to the next town. That would be Sossa. Avilina is there, and she could journey with you for a time."

The rest got jumbled up in Frank's mind. He couldn't keep his eyes open, he was so tired. The room was warm, and comfortable, and the two angel's voices droned on. The fire just crackled and snapped pleasantly. In just a few moments he had drifted off into a light sleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, Anselm saw his young charge nodding off. But he and Pelagius were making plans. Joy walked into the room; she had just finished washing the dishes.

A dark shape passed the window, catching her eye. "Anselm, Pelagius!" She said urgently.

They both looked up and followed her gaze. They saw nothing, but they suddenly knew, that death was near.

"Frank! Frank!" Anselm began shaking the boy awake.

* * *

The darkness was so inviting. Frank became aware of a severe headache and a sharp pain in his neck. Like a warm blanket on a cold day, the blackness seemed to call for him. He started to reach out, give in to the comfort it seemed to have. But something kept him from doing so.

* * *

Anselm continued calling Frank's name and shaking him. Pelagius had drawn his sword, ready to fend off anyone that tried to come through the door. Joy had grabbed a quiver of arrows and a bow. Both angels glanced at Anselm and the sleeping form. Frank was waking.

Anselm began to call out to the Lord. "Father! Is it Your will that he go now? Help me, Father, please!"

He looked heavenward, waiting for the answer. And it came.

* * *

Someone was calling his name. But who? He felt like he was being shaken. All he wanted to do, however, was get a hold of the blanket. Until he heard a small voice.

Actually, the voice seemed small but was also authoritative and loving. It said, _It is not time. Hold on longer, my beloved child. For right now, you must awake!_

The last part was still quiet. But it was almost like a thunder bolt. Frank could not ignore it.

* * *

"Frank wake up!" Anselm said.

The youth stirred. Blinking his eyes open, Frank sat up. He looked at the anxious faces, puzzled. The angels all breathed prayers of thanks.

Blinking some more, Frank asked, "What happened?"

"You were asleep," Joy answered kindly.

Frank nodded slowly, not understanding what all the fuss was about.

"We'll leave tonight." They turned to face Anselm. His face was set. It was final.

**

* * *

Hello out there. Just wanted to clear something up. I know that some of you must be thinking that Anselm isn't a very watchful angel, letting Frank fall asleep right there. However, the whole reason for that, is for the sake of the story. How boring would it be to listen to people making plans. Well, just to let you know, angel's are most definitely more careful than that, and would therefore not let that happen if this was a real life case scenario……thing. Anways, keep in mind that I don't know how angels act and therefore do not know how they think, and that Anselm and Pelagius and Joy and any other angels we might run into are all pretty much fictional. My OCs, if you will. Angels are real, but not the ones in my story. And you're probably getting bored with this note, so, review! Please.**


	5. ch4 Worry

Fenton sat with folded hands by his oldest son's hospital bed. He simply sat and watched Frank's chest gently rise and fall, while his every breath was slightly magnified and fogged the plastic oxygen mask. The computer monitoring Frank's heart beeped in the back round. The detective's only thought was to hope that this was just one big nightmare. In a way, it was.

It is every father's great fear to watch their child lay on a hospital bed in critical condition. Not knowing how this could've happened, if their child will ever fully heal, or if they would even live. This had happened quite a few times for Fenton already, since both his sons decided to follow in his footsteps. But a coma? Never. _This just can't be happening._

In the Hardy's living room, many friends gathered. Chet, Iola, Callie, Biff, Tony, Phil, Jerry, everyone. Even Aunt Gertrude, who had been in Vermont visiting friends, was also there. No one really knew what to say or do. Mostly, they had been praying. It was a great comfort when the Hardys pastor arrived.

Pastor Peter Williams was a kindly elderly man with white hair. Tall, thin, and rather jolly, his eye held a perpetual twinkle, seeming as if he would tell a joke any minute. But today, the twinkle wasn't as bright as usual.

When he arrived and was told the story and of Frank's condition, he led the whole room in prayer. It was quite comforting, hearing his voice lift Frank up in prayer. The tension had eased greatly when the supplication had been said.

When Pastor Williams left, he said, "All time is in the Father's hands. So is Frank. God can be trusted no matter what happens."

The words confused everyone to an extent, leaving them unsure whether this was a comfort or not. It was a comfort, they reasoned, for it meant that God is with Frank the whole time. But then again, it was hard to imagine how they could find comfort if Frank…well, they decided that they would just not dwell on _that_ subject too long.

Back in the ICU ward, Mr. Hardy felt his eyes moisten. Part of him, his pride, refused to let the tears fall. Another part, his father role, just couldn't keep them in. These two parts fought, leaving his chin trembling. Finally, the stress of the last forty-eight hours was too much to restrain the salty tears. Bowing his head, he began to sob.

He didn't want his boy to die. It seemed that just yesterday, frank was a smiling, laughing, little boy playing with the ridiculous amount of energy that only a five-year-old could have. Then, the worst injury he had to worry about was a scraped knee. Frank would come running in, crying, and Laura would gently scoop him up into her lap, calming him down while putting a band-aid on his knee. With a hug and a kiss, she would send him back outside. Five minutes later, he would be running around playing like nothing happened.

However, Frank was no longer five with a scraped knee. He was eighteen and in a coma. Fenton couldn't bear the thought of losing him. The detective laid his head on the bed, while he continued to weep. He had not slept since finding Frank and Joe at the bridge. With utter exhaustion, coupled with the worries of the past two days, Fenton cried himself to sleep.

When the nurse walked in to check on Frank, Mr. Hardy was still asleep. With an understanding smile, she continued her business in the room without disturbing the sleeping father. She also knew full well that he would need all the rest he could get. It would be hard enough to know that their child could wake up, or never wake up, without the proper rest. All they could do was wait and hope. Unfortunately, most of it would actually be worry.

* * *

**Hey, sorry this was so short. Hope you enjoyed it anyway.**


	6. ch5 Sossa

Between the bumpy ride, clopping, crickets, and the two angels talking, Frank really wasn't able to fall asleep. Which is okay. Well, now at least. Ever since he woke up in the cottage, sleep did not feel welcoming. Though the angels did not talk of what happened, the look**s** on their faces when he opened his eyes made him somewhat afraid.

The fear must have shown, for Joy had started up a totally different conversation as if nothing happened. Then, she bustled about packing up extra food and drink for the two day journey to Sossa. Pelagius went outside to get the horses ready, and Anselm produced a map from another room to look at the different routes.

Frank smiled. He hadn't thought that angels would need a map. When he had mentioned this to Anselm, the angel replied that while they were in the spiritual world, it was still in Frank's mind. Frank's imagination had some influence on this adventure , but not enough to dictate it. It was still a very real affair. This memory sobered Frank once more.

That happened two hours ago. Now , Frank was clopping along on the bay Hanoverian horse , Pelagius had given him. Well, Hanoverian is what the angel called it. Anselm rode a black Hanoverian, and Pelagius a chestnut one.

"Frank?" The boy looked up at the sound of his guardian angel's voice. "Are you alright?"

Frank smiled bitterly as he urged his horse closer to his companions. "All right? I suppose. What's a coma usually feel like?"

Pelagius gave him a reproachful look for the sarcastic question, and Anselm replied with another query. "Are you worried about something?"

Frank shook his head. "Worried, you ask. Of course I'm worried! I don't know how Joe is and if I'm going to die!"

Anselm sighed impatiently. "Frank, I already told you Joe's fine. His only injury was a bullet to the shoulder. He's worried about you!"

Frank looked at him quizzically. "How do you know about Joe? You're _my_ guardian angel."

It was Pelagius who answered. "Angels communicate differently than humans, Frank. We are actually more like spirits **and** do not naturally have flesh. Therefore, we do not talk like humans do."

A twinkle entered the youth's eye. "So, it's kinda like psychic powers?"

Both angels glared at him, and Frank laughed. "Sorry," he said, "I guess it's just one of those things that are difficult for a human to understand."

Pelagius nodded. Though they did not like to have their way of communication confused with other, less savory ways, at least it put a smile on Frank's face.

"So," the boy began, "who is Avilina? Another angel?"

"Yes," Anselm answered.

"How many angels will I be meeting?"

Both angels smiled.

"Are there any angels that have the name 'Angel'?"

Again, they smiled. Franks questions amused them greatly, and there were many questions like those on their two day journey. Though Frank was eighteen and quite mature for his age, when talking to angels, it seemed that he was five years old again and just bubbling with curiosity. All of his questions were patiently answered.

Near the end of the second day, it seemed that Frank had finally run out of questions. Well, except for the occasional, "How much farther?"

"About five more miles," Pelagius answered. The horses were moving at a steady trot, so he added, "We'll be there soon."

Frank nodded. During occasional stops to rest the horses, Anselm and Pelagius would show Frank how to read the map, sword fight, shoot a bow, and other things. It was all quite fascinating.

After a minute or two of silence, Frank spoke again. "Anselm?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please tell me about the times you've had to 'save' me from, uh, unpleasant hurts or death?"

Anselm looked at Frank. "Now?"

"Well, yeah. Please?" the young sleuth replied, putting on his most charming smile.

However, angels don't often find things that mortals find charming, well, charming. Needless to say, Anselm did not find Frank's 'most charming smile,' very charming. However, he did smile sympathetically at his young charge. "I'm afraid I can't tell you now, Frank. Later."

Frank's smile disappeared. "Why not now?"

The angel answered with a reproving look and said, "First, because you're whining. Second, we're here."

As Anselm said this, they rounded a bend, and Frank became aware that they were on a hill, for they were now looking down upon a magnificent walled city. A gasp betrayed Frank's awe of it. The city of Sossa was big.

It sat on top of a hill beyond the one they were traveling over, and it was surrounded by huge walls and battlements with guards patrolling the city. Archers stood in the towers looking out. The gate was huge. Frank estimated it to be thirty feet tall and fifteen wide. He could see even more soldiers at the entrance, ready to check whoever came.

"Wow," Frank whispered. "It's incredible."

Anselm shrugged. "I've seen better. Actually, compared to what I've seen, this is nothing."

Frank looked at his companion. "What could you have seen that's better than this? It's huge! It's amazing! It's- "

"Not Heaven," Pelagius interrupted.

"Oh," Frank said. He hadn't thought of it that way.

The angels chuckled. "Come along," Pelagius continued. "We mustn't linger too long."

The trio clucked their horses on towards the city. They were in the valley between the hills when Frank made another query.

"Why is it on top of a hill?" He had learned a little about cities being on hills, but at the moment, he couldn't remember.

Anselm smiled and answered, "For defense. They can see along distance from up there. It's also harder for someone to fight uphill."

"But, you can see it."

"For weary travelers to see, or just to show its status. Sometimes, a city looks more intimidating and harder to conquer; it also looks bigger when you're looking up at it."

Frank nodded. "Okay."

"Now, Frank," Pelagius said. "It would be best if you didn't talk. Morte's men might be near, and though they don't exactly have to hear you to know who you are, I'd rather not take chances."

By now, they were half-way up the hill, and Frank saw that Anselm was right. The city did look much more imposing now that he was looking up towards.

Looking at the distance between them and the gates, he estimated that he had time for one more question. "How do they get their food? Trade?"

Pelagius replied, "No. There are farms on the other side. It's much better for farming and cattle. Now, hush!"

Frank smiled and nodded. They were but a few yards from the gate.

As they approached, Frank closely examined the four soldiers. Each one had knee-high boots, smoky blue leggings, dark blue tunics under chain mail, and a simple helmet. They had shields on their backs, short swords hanging from their belts, and a spear about seven feet in length. One soldier, obviously the leader, had a white plumed feather coming out of the top of his helmet and a blue cloak that came to his mid-calf.

Anselm drew his horse closer to Frank's, leaned over, and whispered, "That is the Captain of the Guard."

"Halt!" the Captain ordered.

They complied as the man walked over. "What is your name, and from whence do you come?"

"I am Pelagius, these are my friends, Anselm and Francis. I am of the Nevaeh, though**t** of late I have been staying in the village Ash, in the land of Lord Morte."

"What of your friends?"

"They are wanderers. They have no settled home. I met them when they came through my village."

The Captain nodded. "What is your business here?"

"We are meeting with a friend."

"Who is this friend?"

"Her name is Avilina. She is an herbalist."

The man squinted for a moment as if remembering something. Then, he nodded. "You're friends with Avilina?"

"You know her?"

"Of course I do. She is usually summoned when a person is injured."

Pelagius nodded slowly. "I see."

"Yes, you may go through."

"Thank you, Captain."

The Captain nodded his response, and they **entered the city**.

Safely out of earshot, Frank leaned over to Pelagius and hissed, "Francis? Since when is my name Francis?"

Pelagius merely smiled before returning his attention to the street.

Houses and shops flanked the road. Soldiers marched in lines, children played, woman talked, and men worked. Signs hung above doors, depicting different things; bread for a bakery, a hammer and anvil for a Blacksmith, thread and a spool for a tailor, and so on.

Towards the center of the city, they came upon a market place. Both men and woman were hawking their wares, and Frank was amazed by the bustle, noise, and color of it all. One man was selling fruits and vegetables of all sorts. One woman was selling cloth, another pies. Frank saw some children gathered excitedly around one wagon. As they drew near, he discovered it to be full of toys, and the man attending it was giving a little girl a doll. Ahead, another man seemed to be selling hunting dogs. The hounds were baying with excitement, keeping the man busy.

Frank urged his horse closer to Anselm's. He was about to say something, when the angel jumped from his own horse and pulled Frank off of his, shouting, "Look out!"

The fall dazed Frank for a moment, but when he had fully regained his senses, he realized that the crowd was screaming in terror. Looking up, he saw an arrow imbedded into a wagon.

jumped from his own horse and pulled Frank off of his, shouting, "Look out!"

"We must get away quickly!" Anselm drug Frank off the ground and pushed him toward a side street.

He heard a short whistle, and the horses trotted up through the panicked crowd. Someone, presumably Anselm, pushed him up onto the saddle and slapped the horse's rump. A glance behind revealed Anselm and six darkly cloaked men with crossbows following him. To his dismay, he did not see Pelagius.

However, the horses were galloping away, and he could not scan the crowd for the other angel. Within seconds, Anselm took the lead and wove through the people and city streets. Frank could still hear the cries of the crowd far behind them. Though he thought they were safe, Anselm apparently did not**, as t**hey kept up the swift gallop down the cobbled streets. Soon, Frank discovered that Anselm's evident caution was not for nothing.

Frank had begun to slow his horse when he felt it– a hot, searing pain ripped across the nape of his neck. He uttered a small cry of surprise as his guardian angel turned around. It was then that Frank saw what an angel really looked like.

Anselm turned around just in time to hear his young charge cry out. Suddenly, he was no longer a traveling warrior in weather-stained clothes. No longer was he exactly a man. Light burst forth, and he drew out his sword, long and deadly. It shown like a white diamond while he faced the enemy. His eyes took on the look of fire. He charged, uttering no cry, the glory of God filling him.

As the enemy quaked before the angel, Anselm spoke. "In the name of the Lord, be gone!"

The angel's hand stretched forth, a terrible screech came from the men, a light flashed, and they were gone.

and they were gone.

Anselm returned to human form and turned to Frank once more. The youth had slipped from the saddle when the light flashed and was now lying on the ground. Anselm hurried over to him. Thankfully, Frank was only unconscious.

A short whistle and the horses came. Lifting Frank onto the saddle, Anselm mounted behind him, and cued the horse on. In a few minutes, they approached a small building with a sign above the door depicting various plants.

* * *

He was dreaming. That much he knew, for he could still see Anselm in his angel form. Frank hadn't been sure what to feel when it happened. Excited? Happy? Terrified? An angel was a thing to behold. Anselm, as an angel, was beautiful. Before he hit the ground, a fleeting picture of a mother bear protecting her cubs crossed his mind.

Then another thought entered. If angels were _that_ beautiful, then what did God look like?

* * *

Frank blinked his eyes open. His _heavy _eyes. He had another killer headache. Looking up, his blurred vision cleared, he saw Anselm and a…girl? Or a woman?

Anselm smiled, his eyes shining with amusement, and the girl/woman laughed. She had a wonderful laugh which reminded him of a bubbling brook or the tinkling of bells, Frank wasn't sure. Of course, he wasn't sure where he was or who she was.

_Life,_ he decided, _is complicated. _

"I'm Avilina," **t**he lady said in her clear, melodious voice.

"Frank," he answered, trying to get up.

Once sitting, he looked up into the face of Avilina. There it was, the trademark eyes of the angels. Then, he looked around. Pelagius.

"Where's Pelagius?" he asked. He hadn't seen the angel since the market place.

"He was called away," Anselm replied. "He had a new charge."

Avilina smiled widely. "It seems that a baby was born today!"

"Really? Where?" Frank inquired.

"Well," Avilina began, "he was born in the same hospital that you are in. To the Johnsons."

Frank looked up at the name. "The Johnsons? Weren't they having trouble with the pregnancy? The doctors thought the baby would be born with Down Syndrome."

The angels beamed as Avilina answered, "Indeed he was!"

The expression on Frank's face became surprised. "That's a good thing?"

"Of course it is," replied Anselm. "Few people know what a joy a child with Down Syndrome is."

Frank nodded. In the ensuing silence, another thought hit Frank.

"It was born the same hospital I'm in?"

The angels nodded.

"That's a weird thought," he said, his voice cracking. He shook his head as tears began to run down his face. "I'm in a hospital, in a coma, and I'm being chased by death in this world."

Anselm sat down beside him. "Frank."

The boy looked up.

"What did I say about God?"

Frank thought for a moment. "That I can trust Him."

Anselm smiled and nodded. "Don't forget that. He's always there no matter what."

Frank nodded, wiping the tears from his face. In the following quiet, he looked at his surroundings. He was in a small room, with a door at one end, leading to the front. Out the doorway, he could see various plants, with a pleasant aroma in the air.

Sighing, he started to stand up. However, Avilina pushed him back down.

"You cannot get up until the poultice has set," she ordered.

Frank gave her a quizzical look. "The what?"

"It's a poultice of Milfoil."

Frank nodded slowly. "Ah."

"Yes," Avilina said, "and while it sets, I shall gather a few supplies, saddle my horse, and we shall be off!"

* * *

**Alright, sorry for the long update. I was being lazy. And wow! This chapter without this note is almost 2500 words. Record. Anywho, I'll try to get the next update done sooner. Thanks!**


	7. ch6 Unseen

Cautiously, the blond stepped into the room. The dark haired youth on the bed looked so fragile, as if he walked any harder, the boy would crumble.

_Don't think of that! _Joe scolded himself. _But…he looks so…so helpless._

Nearing the bed, he felt the tears creep up. For as long as he could remember, Frank had been the stronger one. Sure, he had seen his older brother hurt more times than he liked. But, he always got better. He had always put Joe's life before his own. Whenever Joe was scared, Frank was there to comfort him with kind and calming words.

Joe was scared now, and Frank couldn't give him comfort, because Frank was the one hurt-the whole reason Joe was scared.

Sitting down, Joe began breathing hard and fast, trying to keep the tears in. It wasn't working very well.

"God," he began "why are You doing this? Why did You have to hurt Frank? What did he ever do to You? Huh? What? If You're so loving, why are You letting this happen?"

Unable to keep them down, Joe let the tears come. He grabbed his brother's hand, laid his head down, and sobbed.

* * *

Malachi looked down sadly at the weeping boy. The guardian angels put a hand on Joe's shoulder, knowing that it wouldn't be felt. He too wondered why the Father was letting this happen, but knew that patience was needed in this situation.

However, it seemed to him that Joe was putting aside his faith in God. He knew that the boy was just human, but he did want to give him a good talk.

* * *

Laura laid her tired head on her husband's shoulder. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately. Right now, she wanted to be in the room with her boys. But Joe wanted some time alone, and both parents respected that.

Fenton held his wife's hands, barely registering the fact. No matter what, thoughts of his boy dying ran through his head constantly. Although it had been a few days since the incident, it was still awful. The image of Joe holding Frank in his arms was imbedded into his mind.

* * *

Ilaria and Jehozadak looked at each other knowingly. Situations like these were nothing new to the parents guardian angels. Over the centuries, they'd seen families during times of devastation and hopelessness.

"It's an awful thing to endure," said she.

"Yes," he agreed. "It's even worse if they do not trust the Father."

She nodded sadly.

* * *

Dr. Hanson looked at the chart. Heaving a sigh, he started for the room. He honestly didn't think that the boy had much of a chance. It actually surprised him that the boy hadn't woken up or died yet.

He winced. He himself had three children, the oldest one twenty-seven. He would hat to be in the situation that the Hardys were in. He shouldn't be thinking such thoughts of how the boy should be dead by now.

* * *

Titus followed his charge through the hallway. It was evident that the doctor was quite tired, and the angel knew the Hardy case was wearing down on him. Like everyone else, Titus did not know what God's plan was, but he trusted the Father in it.

He nodded at his fellow angels as he passed them in the hall. In an instant, he knew what was going on with the nurses or patients. Mr. Jones was in the process of being discharged today. Miss Patterson went home today. He could hear her family crying, yet he smiled. She was a Christian. She just met her Lord.

_This,_ he said to himself, _is why the Hardys and Bob Hanson shouldn't be worried. The Father has got it under control. Not that they'll listen to me. _He chuckled._ After all, I'm an angel. I'm unseen.

* * *

_**Okay, another short one. Sorry. Hey, if anything is confusing, please tell me! And it would help if you're specific. Don't worry about hurting my feelings or anything. Thanks!**


	8. ch7 Conversation

**Hey, sorry it took me so long. I had to get a few things checked out first. But, it's here!**

* * *

Frank dropped to the ground and leaned against a tree. They had traveled all night before halting at dawn. Anselm had decided to stop by the lake and eat. So, here they were watching the sunrise across the water as Anselm started a fire for Avilina to prepare the food.

As he watched, it seemed to Frank that the sky was bursting with color. Transfixed, Frank became oblivious to all other sounds around him. The sky was a deep blue above all others, but it merged with the light to become a beautiful violet, then pink, then a soft orange. The water transformed into an artist's palette, taking in the colors and reflecting them, slightly breaking them up. Suddenly, the land was bathed in a soft gold as the sun began to peek over the horizon. All too soon the colors vanished, the sky became a bright blue, and Frank once again became aware of his surroundings.

"Wow," he breathed.

Anselm looked up. "What?"

Frank had a whimsical smile on his face. "The sunrise. That was amazing."

The angel smiled. "Yes it was. No one can paint like the Father can."

"Paint?"

"Yes. The sky is His canvas. He molds as well."

Frank raised both eyebrows.

"You should know this," Anselm laughed. "He molds the earth, the plants, the animals. Do you know what He likes to mold best?"

Frank smiled. "People?"

Anselm let out a great big laugh. "Very good, my young student!"

Frank's smile broadened. "Thank you, oh Wise Teacher!"

This made Anselm laugh even harder. Frank joined the mirth, deciding that angels were hard to understand, hard to charm, hard to worry, and yet quite easy to amuse. _Why is that?_

After a moment, they both calmed down. Looking around, Frank noticed that Avilina was absent.

"She went to look for things to add to breakfast," Anselm said. "After watching humans for centuries, it isn't too hard to read them."

Frank nodded as they lapsed into a companionable silence.

"Anselm," he said.

"Yes?"

"What is God like?"

Anselm was quiet for a moment. He finally said, "Frank, you love your father very much, don't you?"

Frank cocked his head. "After centuries of watching humans, you can tell what they want to say, but not their emotions? Angels are strange indeed. Of course I do!"

"Do you think he's the best father in the world? Or do you think of someone else when asked who the 'perfect father' is?"

"My dad. Who else?"

"Why is that?"

Frank was becoming puzzled. "Because he love's me. I know he's not perfect, but I know he loves me. He hates it when something happens to me. Or to Joe."

Anselm nodded. "That's what God is like. Only, a thousand times better. And He loves you more than anything, or anyone."

Frank nodded. After a few moments of silence, he came up with another question. "What happened?"

"When?"

"At the market. When we were running away. You," he paused. "What did you do? That was incredible! It was...beautiful."

"Ah. The Father allowed me to uncloak."

"Huh?"

Anselm smiled. "Usually, I would just fight back as though I was just a man. However, sometimes the Father allows us to 'uncloak.' show ourselves as angels. And when that happens," Anselms eyes lit up, "His glory shines through!"

Frank looked at him. "Is that why you were so-" he stopped.

"So what?" Anselm inquired.

"Well," Frank blushed slightly. "beautiful. As an angel."

Again, Anselm smiled. "Yes."

"I've always heard that God is beautiful. Is that what He's like?"

Anselm chuckled. "Like? No! He's even _more_ beautiful! Oh Frank! I wish you could see Him right now! He is light! He is love! He is holy! He is glorious! Ah! I can not find words fitting! You think an angel is beautiful? We are nothing compared to Him!

"And His voice! When He speaks, it is as commanding as thunder! Yet as soothing as a spring shower! When He sings, He makes the most wonderful music! When He sings, the birds join in, the waters, too, add to His melody. And His laugh...Oh His laugh...the joy that comes from the sound of His laugh. Where it is day, the sun shines brighter, and where it is night, the stars try to match His twinkling eyes! Where it rains, if you listen hard enough, you can hear His laughter through the thunder.

"When He cries...when He cries, the earth cries. His sorrow runs deep, but His tears are beautiful, for they are filled with love! When He cries, it is because of His love. Oh Frank. How I wish you could see Him right now." When he finished, Anselm seemed to be out of breath, but he was beaming.

Frank was silent for a moment. "I've never heard anyone describe God that way."

Anselm looked back. "Have you ever read the book of Job?"

"Yeah, once. Why?"

"Do you remember what it's about?"

Frank shrugged. "Isn't it about a guy named Job who was rich, and all of the sudden his life got ruined?"

The angel chuckled. "Yes. Do you remember the different responses from everyone?"

Frank shook his head.

"Well, his wife told Job that he ought to curse God. And his friends, they came to comfort Job, but their words weren't much comfort. Job never cursed God, but he did not always have the best attitude towards God for his suffering. A fellow named Elihu was there. However, he said something rather different from the other three friends. He reminded everyone Who the Father is. I had the pleasure of being Elihu's guardian angel. His words were wonderful! I was so proud of him when he spoke up. But like I said, the Father can not be described properly in mere words."

"Didn't God talk to Job?" Frank asked.

"Yes He did. I remember His voice thundering down. He questioned Job. All His questions continued to remind us of His power and might!"

While Frank digested this information, Avilina walked up carrying various plants.

"Hello, you two! What have you been talking of?" She asked.

Anelm replied, "The Father."

Avilina's face brightened. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Frank said. "I asked Anselm to describe Him to me."

Anselm snorted lightly. "It was almost frustrating. There are no proper words to describe Him."

Avilina gave her fellow angel a sympathetic look. "Yes. If there were, I doubt Frank would be able to comprehend it clearly."

Frank smiled. "With your enthusiasm and description, I have to say, I can't wait to see Him."

Both angels look up, grins on their faces.

"Well Frank," Avilina said, "Neither can we."

* * *

**That little bit where Anselm describes God, is inspired by Job37:2-5. Awesome passage. The whole book is great! Thanks for reading, and please review!-Jimmy Candlestick**


	9. ch8 Talk

The Morton family had finally managed to get Fenton and Laura to go home and get some rest. Joe had decided to stay at the hospital overnight. It had been six days since the incident, and they all wanted to stay with Frank, just in case he woke up. But six days is a long time, and the doctors and nurses honestly didn't have much hope.

They held whispered conversations when they thought the family wasn't listening. But Joe heard. And with that in mind, he looked forward even more to the day that Frank opened his eyes. Yet, there was always a doubting voice in the back of his mind when he thought about that.

What if Frank didn't open his eyes? What if the heart monitor stopped its incessant beeping? Then Frank would stop his magnified breathing. Then there would be no more cases to solve with him. No help when Joe got himself caught for his impulsive actions. No more parties together after each solved case. No more laughing like thee was no tomorrow, with the top down on the convertible. No more-

_Stop!_ Joe gripped Frank's hand harder. The last thing he needed was think of that. He watched Frank lay there. Just lay there. Joe shook his head. Frank didn't even know what was going on. That was probably the only good thing out of this whole ordeal.

Joe glanced up. The nurse had just finished her nightly rounds. Somewhere, it seemed like he heard that talking out loud would help. He hoped that no one would walk in unexpectedly.

"Frank," he began softly, looking at his older brother's face. "Just thought I might tell you what's been going on." He cleared his throat. "Mr. Williams has been by, checkin' on you. He says he's been prayin' for you. I'm not sure it's working, but I'm not going to stop him. Don't think he'd stop anyway. Aunt Gertrude's here everyday. She's been staying at home, takin' care of things. Mom and Dad are usually here all the time, but the Mortons decided they needed to get some sleep, so they took them home. Mom's been crying a lot. I think Dad has too. But it's hard to tell.

"Chet and Iola were here the other day. Bessie had another calf. Iola showed me a picture. It's brown with a white star on it's forehead. Do you remember the pregnant mare? They said she's gonna have a foal soon. Wonder what they'll name it.

"Phil finished his song. He said it's his best one yet. He can't wait to show you when you wake up. Only his parents have heard it, and they said it was really good too.

"Biff, uh, he's been working even harder at his boxing. He told me he'd sure love to get that guy who shot you. So would I. Chief said I really kicked his tail by the river. Said he was really banged up. Biff still wants to give him some more, though.

"Tony said that the whole school seems to be a lot quieter since you've been here. Everyone's, just kinda, I dunno….bummed I guess. He said they can't wait until you're back. Especially Callie.

"She's by here every day. You know, I can tell she's trying to be hopeful, but she sure is taking it hard. Apparently, she hasn't been doing too well in school lately." Joe swallowed.

He bit his lip before continuing. "I guess that's about it." Tears welled up. "And me? I just wish you'd wake up." He began to sob. "Please wake up, Frank! Please! The nurses think you're gonna die. Prove them wrong! Prove me wrong! Wake up!"


	10. Ch9 Life

Frank swiveled suddenly in his saddle, looking wildly about

Frank swiveled suddenly in his saddle, looking wildly about.

"Did you hear that?" he asked urgently.

Anselm and Avilina looked at him, and then their surroundings. They heard nothing but the twittering of birds, the horses, and the wind rustling the trees.

"What, exactly, are we listening for?" Avilina inquired.

Frank looked perplexed. "It sounded like Joe."

The angels exchanged looks while, Anselm began, "Frank-"

"There it is again!" Frank interrupted.

They all listened carefully. Anselm thought he heard something, but wasn't quite sure. Avilina heard absolutely nothing. Frank nodded.

"It is Joe! He-he's telling me to wake up!"

Anselm closed his eyes and concentrated. Very, very faintly, he heard it. The younger Hardy was saying, _"Prove them wrong! Wake up!"_ Joe said this over and over.

Opening his eyes, the angel looked at Frank. The boy was looking up, tears running down his face. Anselm glanced toward Avilina. In an instant, she knew what happened, and she turned her horse down the road and went ahead of them.

Anselm dismounted, and walking over, touched Frank's arm to get his attention. "Frank get down; let's walk for a moment."

Numbly, Frank nodded and obeyed.

As they began walking, Frank spoke. "He sounds so sad. I think he was crying."

The angel nodded, allowing his charge to continue.

"I wish I could wake up- I don't want him to cry. Anselm, how do I wake up?"

Anselm took a breath before answering. I'm afraid that is not you're choice to make. Think about it Frank, you're unconscious. Have you ever made decisions when unconscious?"

"But can't I at least decide if I want to live or not?"

Anselm turned, surprised. "Frank. That is the Father's choice! He decides when your time is over."

Frank faced his companion, slightly frustrated. "Then why are we running? If it's God's choice, why can't we just face this Morte guy?"

"Life."

Abruptly, Frank stopped. "What? Life? What's that supposed to mean?"

With a somber look and gentle eyes, Anselm explained," Life is a precious gift from the Father. The enemy knows this, and it infuriates him. That's why every chance he gets, he'll try to take it away. Sometimes he tries in ways like this, sometimes he tries just by leading people away from the Father."

This confused Frank. "What do you mean? I know I haven't been the model Christian when it comes to being close to God, but I know He exists! I mean, all other evidence aside, I'm talking to my guardian angel! What more could one possibly need?!"

Anselm was silent for a moment as they started walking again. Then he said, "In this situation, Frank, you, as a Christian, can not really lose anything. If you die, you will go home, and I don't mean your earthly home. I mean heaven. So, the enemy won't have much to celebrate, except for the fact that you may not have influenced as many people for Christ as you could have.

"However, just because you will not suffer, does not mean that others won't. The death of a loved one is extremely hard to get over. I've seen grief in families too many times to count. Not everyone continues to lean on the Father. They think that he has abandoned them. In those times of grief, people are much weaker. All the more reason to go to the Father. But it's also the time that the enemy attacks more than usual."

Frank looked down. He really hadn't thought about it that way.

"That's not the only way people are led astray by death," Anselm continued.

"How do you mean?" Frank inquired.

A sad look came into the angels eyes. He sighed. "I know that most of the time, humans tend to think of looking after others as a burden. For us it isn't. It is such a joy to watch all of you grow up and discover things about the Father's creation. The light in your eyes, especially, when you find out that he made everything special and unique. I guess you can say that creativity, curiosity, and learning are the favorite things that we angels have about you humans.

"To be quite honest, we enjoy your 'firsts' in life just as much as your parents do. We love to watch you take your first step, laugh for the first time, even cry when you're born. We love it because you're taking in the gift of life on earth from the Father. You may not realize that, but you are. These are the things we look forward to the most, especially when we're waiting to get back to earth. Like I said, it's a joy to watch you all.

"However, we can not always do that." At this, Anselm's voice became softer, more full of sorrow. "Once, not too long ago, I was preparing to go back down. It was only a few more months on earth. Just a few. A young woman, newly-wed, was pregnant. She and her husband had a successful job that they loved. The woman's guardian angel was looking forward to watch her charge throughout motherhood, and I was looking forward to watching the baby throughout life. It was only a few months away. She had an abortion."

Frank looked over. Silent tears ran down his guardian's face, and Anselm's shoulders sagged slightly.

The angel began again. "I was given the privilege of showing the child heaven, after witnessing their meeting with the Father."

"But," Frank began, "isn't it a good thing that the baby didn't grow up on earth? It didn't sin, and it didn't hear about all the bad things on earth."

Anselm nodded. "Yes. But the enemy delights in taking away one's life. There is life before birth, Frank. There is something about watching a child of God grow up on earth and then come to heaven and have an even more abundant, joyful life. I'm not quite sure how to explain it." Anselm fell silent.

After a minute or so, Frank spoke up. "What about the people who aren't Christians?"

Again, Anselm sighed. "Watching them…it's hard. I don't know what the day will bring. If they will accept salvation, or throw it away. If they will die, or not. But each moment, I desperately hope that they will see the light. And it doesn't always happen."

Frank looked at his friend. Only hours earlier, the angel had looked the same age as himself, but that changed drastically. Now, the angel looked old and haggard, a clue to how much he had seen in life.

After a moment, Frank broke the silence. "Thank you for talking to me about it."

Anselm managed a smile. "You're welcome. I'm actually quite happy to talk to a child of God like this."

"Well, then," Frank began as he mounted. "What say you about a race to catch up to Avilina?"

Anselm also mounted. "I would enjoy that very much. But one question: would you like me to let you win?" He asked innocently.

"Ha, ha."

They both urged their horses on at the same moment. In mere seconds, the ground was trembling under the thundering hooves. With manes and tails streaming behind them, the horses galloped at full speed. Both riders could feel the muscles of their powerful mounts contract beneath them. Lengthening their stride, the horses went faster and faster, ears pinned back, nostrils sucking in the air, hooves pounding at a swift and steady rhythm.

Frank hugged his mount's neck, grabbing both reins and mane, not daring to loosen his grip. The horses were going at such a speed, it was nearly impossible for their riders to stop them. Frank had never felt such a thrill in his entire life. Nothing was as tremendous as feeling all this power and might beneath you and almost becoming one with it.

Frank did not know how much time had passed when they came upon Avilina riding her palomino Arabian. Both the human and the angel pulled up hard. By the time the horses stopped, they were well ahead of Avilina and had to turn their horses around.

Smiling, Avilina greeted them. "Having fun?"

"Yes," they both said, breathless.

"Good!" She laughed. "How is your little wound, Frank?"

"It's better, thanks. But, can't you just heal it? Like, don't you have a healing power or something?"

This time, both the angels laughed. This, of course, puzzled Frank.

"No," Avilina finally said. "Miraculous healing is something only the Father can do. No, actually anything we do is ingenuity and orders from the Father."

Frank nodded. "Y'know, the upside of this coma is that I get to hang out with angels."

"Yes," Anselm added, "and we get to talk to a human who still lives on earth."

The companions laughed together as they continued on their way.

Further ahead they heard a roaring sound, indicating that they were near a river. After a few more minutes of riding, they sighted it. The river was grayish in color and about one hundred yards across. On the shore was a beached ferry that ran across the river by a rope. The ferrymen were dozing on the deck as the three riders approached.

About two miles behind, a young hare sat beside the road, occasionally twitching it's whiskers. Suddenly it tensed. It could feel slight trembling in the ground. An ear swiveled. Then it dashed into the undergrowth.

Watching from the bushes, the hare saw fifteen men gallop past, their horses covered in sweat and frothing at the mouth.

"I must depart here," Avilina announced. "I am being called elsewhere."

Frank and Anselm nodded.

She smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Frank."

He nodded. "It was nice meeting you too."

"I'll see you soon."

Again, Frank nodded. They boarded the ferry, holding their saddles and things while the horses were tied to the back. Avilina began to leave, and the ferry was pushing off, when Avilina suddenly turned.

"Anselm!" She cried. "Morte's men! They're coming! I'll try to hold them off as long as I can!"


	11. Ch10 Will

**Well, it's finally another one...it's short...oh well!**

* * *

Left, right, left, right. One foot in front of the other was Joe's only subconscience thought. He wasn't sure where he was going. He wasn't even aware of the friendly "hellos" as he passed people by. When he didn't answer, some gave him odd looks, while others, who knew who he was, shook their heads sadly.

He had gone into Frank's room, why, he could not remember, and saw a picture on the bedside table. It was Frank, himself, and a few friends standing on a bluff over looking a lake. Someone had asked a question like, "If you knew you were going to die in a few days, what would you do?"

They all had their different answers, though they all pretty much agreed that they'd spend more time with their family. Staring at the picture, Joe remembered those words and realized that Frank had been doing just that for the past few days. Though it was impossible for Frank to have known what was going to happen, it was still a freaky thought.

Joe walked straight out of the house, continuing to remind himself that Frank wasn't dead. Wandering aimlessly, he turned his path towards the church. Without really acknowledging it, Joe opened the door and walked into the sanctuary. He sat in a seat a few rows from the back, and thought.

Sanctuaries are aptly named, for they are indeed safe havens from the outside world. They're quiet and peaceful, a place to come to God without any distractions. And though you can feel close to God anywhere, a sanctuary can seem a bit more natural.

With a tired sigh, Joe leaned forward resting his head on the chair in front of him. Lazy thoughts drifted around in his head, slowly turning into a meandering prayer. Footsteps quietly approached, but Joe paid them no heed. A hand was placed on his shoulder, jerking him out of his reverie.

"Oh," he said. "Hey, Mr. Williams."

The old man smiled. "Hello, Joe. How are you doing?"

Joe shrugged. "Okay."

A moment of silence followed.

"I'm not doing good at all." Joe's resigned statement made the kindly pastor turn.

"Oh? Would you like to tell me about it?"

Joe nodded. "I keep on thinking he's going to die. I know of plenty of stories about people surviving comas, but I keep on thinking that he's going to die. I'm even having dreams. I can't think of positive things!"

Pastor Williams nodded, quiet. Then he spoke, "Have you gone to God yet?"

"What?"

"Have you gone to God about it?"

Joe fidgeted uncomfortably. "Not exactly."

"Well, you ought to. It is your choice whether or not to do so, but it will give you peace knowing that God will take care of everything. Remember this, Frank is in the Father's hands. He has always been there."

Joe looked down. "I know. It's just so hard to remember."

"It is hard. Especially when one is unsure of God's will. Like now."

"But, how do I find out what God's will is?"

"I'm not sure you can actually find out what it is now. However, you can follow Jesus' example, and let God's will be done. Though it is not always what we want, it is always for a greater purpose. His will is always for the best."

"I know…it's just hard…." Joe's voice trailed off.

"Yes. But you can do it with God's help."

Joe nodded and whispered, "Okay."

The blonde got up and exited the building, leaving the elderly man in his thoughts and prayers.

As Joe headed home, he said this simple yet difficult prayer, "God, let Your will be done."

**okay, we're nearing the end. quick poll-is Frank going to die? please, tell me your thoughts.-Jimmy**


	12. Ch11 Ferry

**Now, I asked who thought what was going to happen to Frank, and all of you want him to live. I should kill him just to spite you. :)**

* * *

The arrival of Morte's men made the ferrymen pause, but Frank and Anselm snapped into action. They took the long poles from the ferrymen and began pushing the ferry across as fast as possible. The horses, trailing behind, began to swim as the water got deeper.

Frank chanced a look back. Avilina had drawn her sword, a slim blade that could easily be held with one hand. Her horse, sensing its rider's excitement, pranced about.

"Frank!" Anselm's voice jerked him back into focus. "Check that rope!"

Frank looked toward what Anselm was pointing. He saw a rope running on the sides of the boat, going through holes, keeping the boat on course. He started toward it, but one of the men beat him to it.

The ferrymen had realized the seriousness of the situation and took over. One man took charge and helped in skillfully maneuvering the craft across the swiftly flowing water. Frank carefully made his way to meet Anselm in the middle of the ferry. As they met near their packs, Frank saw the angel look up in alarm. He was about to turn and look when Anselm shoved him down behind the packs.

Frank felt something hit the saddle in front of him the same moment he heard Anselm cry out. He looked back to see the angel's unusually pale face. Anselm managed a small smile, apparently in pain. It did not take Frank long to see the arrow protruding from the angel's thigh.

"Cut the ropes!" The captain of the ferrymen cried.

Immediately, two others obeyed the order, puling out knives. Set free, the raft moved along with the strong current. Frank could just see the horses' heads above the water as they swam behind. More arrows were shot after them, but they fell miserably short.

Presently, the water became rougher. Frank heard one of the men groan loudly and saw another mutter something. After a few moments, he spotted the cause of their anxiety. Rapids. Turning, Frank saw the leader frown, obviously thinking of what to do.

The captain glanced at Frank. "Boy!" he called. "Take up a pole! I need you to help push off the rocks."

Frank nodded and stood up. He caught his balance and began making his way to a pole.

Anselm struggled to get up as well.

The captain noticed this, "No, lad! You can't do anything with that leg!"

Anselm turned. Facing the captain, he ripped the arrow out savagely and said, "Just you watch!"

Limping painfully over to Frank, he missed the open-mouthed stare he got from the man. Grabbing a pole, he stood next to his charge who was also staring at him. Anselm only glanced back and suppressed a grimace.

Shaking his head, the captain began shouting again. "Alright, men! Look lively now-the rocks are comin' up fast!"

Everyone tensed as the water started frothing around the craft.

"Starboard! Watch that rock! Port! Littl'un comin' your way!" So came the orders. For what seemed like hours, but was actually minutes, they made their way through the rapids.

Thankfully, they came to the end without much damage. The ferrymen guided the ferry to the bank and let their passengers off. The horses came through with only a few scrapes and cuts. With hasty thanks, Anselm threw the saddles on the horse's backs, shouldered a pack, and led the horses through the forest at a rapid pace.

Frank jogged behind. He couldn't help but notice the angel's limp and knew it had to be treated. Anselm may be an angel, but as he was in human form, it only made sense that he wouldn't be able to go on forever. The pain itself would force his slowing pace to stop. If the blood loss didn't first. The blood was soaking his pants _and _boots.

Finally, Frank called, "Anselm, you need to stop!"

Anselm glanced back briefly. "No! They'll find a crossing and catch up!"

The boy stopped. "Well I'm not going any further until that's looked at."

Of course this made Anselm puase. He painfully turned around to see Frank sitting on the ground, arms crossed with raised eyebrows. Despite the pain and urgency of the situation, Anselm laughed. To him, humans just looked hilarious when they did that.

Leaning heavily on his horse, Anselm made his way back to his charge. As soon as he sat down, Frank stood up and grabbed a saddle bag whilst handing Anselm a scrap of cloth to slow the blood flow.

"Avilina said there were herbs in here," he said. "Tell me what to do and I'll bandage your leg."

The angel nodded. After a moment he asked, "What is in the bag?"

Frank shrugged and rummaged through it. "Umm….Leaves…leaves…Hey! More leaves!"

"Frank!" Anselm exclaimed. "What kind of leaves?"

"I don't know. Wait. Here's some more cloth and stuff to dress the wound…and…a bottle?" Frank pulled out a bottle and poured some of its amber contents onto his hand. Lifting it to his mouth, Frank tasted it. "Honey?"

Anselm chuckled. "Perfect! Here, give it to me and get the bandages."

As soon as Frank gave Anselm the bottle, the angel cut his pant leg open a little wider at the wound. Then he poured the honey onto the wound and wrapped the bandages Frank handed to him, around his leg.

"Alright," Anselm said. "Let's go."

He stood up, swayed slightly, and limped toward his horse. Frank beat him to it and buckled the saddle completely on.

With pursed lips Anselm, looked at him. "I could've done that."

Frank looked back. "You have an injured leg."

Anselm spread his hands out. "You're in a coma! Now buckle the saddle on your own horse and let's get on our way!"

Frank turned around grumbling. "And I thought angels were supposed to be helpful."

Anselm snorted.

Frank turned again, and cracked a smile which the angel returned.

"I was wondering when we were going to get at this stage," Anselm commented.

"What stage?"

"The bantering stage. Kind of like you and your brother. Only you boys are actually serious."

"Ho ho. You make me laugh hysterically."

Anselm laughed as they mounted. Then he grunted in pain and went quiet all together.

"Come on Frank, they're not far behind anymore."

**There ya go.**


	13. Ch12 Comfort

**'Nother short chappie...Almost done. **

* * *

Joe peeked into the room. His dad was poring over different files and folders, both hard copies and computer files. Joe knew for a fact that his dad wasn't on a new case, but that didn't seem to stop Mr. Hardy from doing research on just about everything. Mr. Hardy often did os when he was worried or stressed.

He knocked on the open door. "Can I come in?"

Fenton looked up. "Sure."

Joe walked in and sat in a chair opposite of his father's. Silence reigned for a few minutes, neither really wanting to say anything. The study window was open, letting the cool autumn breeze in. A nearby robin twittered before taking off. Down the street, the Robinson children were playing, their shouting too faint to tell what the game was. Down stairs, water was running, indicating that Aunt Gertrude was in the kitchen preparing supper.

Finally, Mr. Hardy cleared his throat. "I talked to Baldwin today."

"Baldwin? The guy who shot Frank?"

"Yes."

"Really. What did he have to say for himself?" Joe asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

Fenton sighed. "Not much. Except that he hoped Frank was dead." He paused and took a deep breath. "I didn't have much of an answer. Just that I hoped God had mercy on his soul, because I didn't."

Joe raised his eyebrows. "You didn't get in a fist-fight did you?"

Mr. Hardy gave a bitter laugh. "I probably would've, if Con and Ezra didn't come in then."

Joe managed a small smile. "I betcha that wouldn't have stopped Mom."

Mr. Hardy smiled back.

Laura had nearly exploded when she found out who did it. She practically had to be held back from going to the station, and Aunt Gertrude had to slip some sleeping pills in her tea to calm her down. That was last night. Right now, she was at the hospital with Frank.

After a few minutes of silence, Joe asked, "Whatcha lookin' at?"

"The Baldwin case from a few years ago."

"You mean he actually has a criminal record?"

"No, this is on his son: Jake Baldwin. Jake had killed several people-"

"Boy," Joe interrupted. "Wonder where that impulse came from."

Fenton looked at his son before continuing. "-and I was one of the detectives on the case. He received the death sentence. As near as we can figure, I was the only one the father was able to track down. So, he decided the take his revenge on me." Mr. Hardy settled back in his chair.

Joe nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Has he confessed yet?"

Mr. Hardy shook his head. "Nope. But like I said, that was near as we could figure."

More silence followed.

Joe asked, "Did Baldwin have any other sons?"

"No. He had two other daughters- Jake was the youngest. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I guess I'm just wondering why he picked Frank. I can sort of see why it was just one of us, but why Frank? If he wanted the whole, 'eye for eye' thing, I would've been shot. I'm the youngest, like Jake."

Fenton thought a moment, before answering. "I'm not sure he was thinking in those terms. He was probably more in the moment of rage and bitterness and wasn't thinking it through."

Suddenly he stopped. His head dropped into his hands. He rubbed his eyes and lifted his head so that only his mouth was covered. From his eyes, tears began to fall. "I can't do this," he said. "Acting like this is just any other case when it's not! That is _my _son in a coma. That is the man who tried to kill_ Frank _in jail. I thought that trying to treat it like a normal case would be fine, so I wouldn't do anything rash. But I can't." His voice cracked.

Joe laid a hand on his father's shoulder. Fenton stood up and grabbed Joe into a close embrace. Joe hugged back, also crying. They stood there for several minutes, comforting one another in silence.

Finally, Fenton pulled away. Wiping his eyes, he said, "Well, why don't we head back to the hospital. Keep your mom some company."

Joe nodded and followed his father out the door.

The ride over was uneventful and silent. Neither spoke, busy with either their own thoughts or with nothing to say. When they arrived, they walked through the doors, nodded and smiled their greetings to the receptionist. They walked down many, the all too familiar hallways, presently arriving at Frank's room, where Laura was waiting.

She smiled tiredly as they entered. "Hey," she said.

Fenton hugged her, giving her a light kiss. "What've you been doing?"

She leaned against him. "Praying. What else is there to do?" She looked over at Joe who was sitting by the bed. "How 'bout you, Joe? How are you doing?"

He met her gaze briefly. "Better. I went to the church today to pray. Mr. Williams was there."

"Yeah? Did you talk?" she asked.

"Yeah. About God's will."

"Really? What was the conclusion you came to about it?"

Joe took a deep breath. "I decided to let His will be done."

Fenton laid a hand on Joe's shoulder. "That's a hard thing to do."

Joe sighed deeply. "Yeah. But, since then, I've felt more peaceful about it."

**Review, por favor.**


	14. Ch13 Death

**I am proud to say, that this is my longest chapter I have ever written. 4,215 words. :) The next Chapter is the last chapter...SO BE SURE TO REVIEW!! smiles sweetly please?**

* * *

Frank lurched forward suddenly. He leaned his head against the horse's neck, taking deep breaths. The pounding in his head was now back with a vengeance. He groaned, rubbing his temples in hopes of some relief from the pain.

Anselm turned around. "Frank? Are you alright?" The angel guided his own horse back.

Painfully, Frank sat back up, opening his eyes. "My head hurts again. Really bad."

Anselm studied him for a few minutes. Averting his eyes, he quickly surveyed their surroundings. Then he spoke, "Morte is not far behind."

Frank looked at him quizzically. "Don't you mean his men?"

"No. He is with them. Come, we must go swiftly." Wheeling around, Anselm sent his horse into a quick trot down the path with Frank following.

They rode in silence, not daring to make a sound. The horses began to act uneasy- their gaits lost grace, their ears swiveled back and forth, and lather began to coat their bodies. Gradually, Frank noticed that even the forest was quiet and still. Sunlight filtered through the green canopy, creating patterns on the leafy forest floor. But no wind blew, and there was no sound or sight of animals. There was no twittering of birds, no scampering of squirrels- not even bugs of any kind could be seen flying or crawling about.

Everything suddenly seemed to darken, and Frank looked up. The sun was still shining bright as ever, without any sign of clouds, but the darkness threatened to overcome him and, with it, a cold feeling of dread.

Frank caught up to Anselm. "Why is it so quiet? Forests aren't this silent."

Anselm replied while looking straight ahead. "Death is silent. I know that in the twenty-first century, it may not always seem like it. But that's because death comes in all sorts of noisy ways. Guns, war, or crime. Cars, crashes or hit-and-run. Sometimes, in these cases, it is an accident. A deer leaps into the middle of the road. Someone isn't giving their full attention to their driving. In war, it is just someone at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Then there are your horror films. Chainsaws and what not. Screams of terror. You can even hear the blood splatter. Whimpers of pain. Taunts of those who are terrorizing. All of this makes death loud.

"But death is not loud. Death is when one can no longer think when they can no longer hear, when they can no longer speak. Death is when your lungs fail the task appointed of them when the eyes no longer see, and when the heart stops it's ever present beat."

Anselm glanced at Frank. He smiled sympathetically at the thoroughly sobered face. "But that is only for a moment. For when that person has left their physical body, they enter into Heaven, if their faith is in Jesus. There, it is full of joyful noises and songs. There, the colors are brighter, deeper, fuller. There, no danger can befall you, no loneliness will find you, no sorrow will have you. But at first, Frank, you do not know this, because right before you is Jesus, and He has His arms outstretched to embrace and welcome you. Before that moment, you will hear and know nothing. In that moment when He pulls you in, the first thing you will hear and know, is His voice."

Frank's little spell of silence was broken as he asked, "What will He say?"

Anselm's eyes twinkled. "That is for you to find out, and not for me to say."

After another moment of silence, Frank said, "It's not always chainsaws."

"I'm sorry?"

"You said that in horror films they use chainsaws. They don't all use chainsaws," Frank pointed out.

Anselm did a funny little head wobble before answering, "Well, I saw one that did, so that's how I usually envision them. I'm a little biased."

The horses started snorting and pawing furiously at the ground. They jerked forward, prancing, wanting to go faster.

"Biased? Angels can be biased?" Frank asked, disbelieving. Beneath him, his horse did a little half-rear. Frank had to work hard to keep the animal from doing anything drastic.

"Well," Anselm grunted, as he also struggled to keep his mount under control. "I never said we angels are perfect, did I? Here, let them have their heads. I feel Morte a little too well for comfort."

They were just about to do so, when a shout was heard behind them. The horses screamed in terror and reared. Frank had only been on a rearing horse once or twice, but never one so terrified. Hooves pawed in the air as it seemed to dance on its hind legs.

Anselm was doing only slightly better. The angel managed to send the horse back down by throwing his weight against the animal. Frank tried this, but the horse was reaching too high.

In one sickening moment, Frank realized that the horse was going to fall back onto him. Panic set in. All he could do was cling to the horse. Nearby, Anselm yelled, but that didn't stop anything. Frank could almost feel the earth seemingly rush up to meet him. Above, a myriad of green and brown swirled and blurred around him. Then a heavy thud was heard as someone cried out in both surprise and pain. Was that him? He couldn't tell. His head it the ground, and pain attacked him.

Frank could feel the horse roll off him and then gallop away. Someone called his name causing him to open his eyes. He looked over to see Anselm, keeping his horse in place, leaning down with an outstretched hand. Frank understood immediately and pushed himself off the ground, grabbing the angel's offered hand and swinging onto the horse.

As soon as Anselm felt Frank settle into the saddle, he sent the horse into a gallop, shouting, "Hold on!"

The angel breathed a small prayer of thanks as the horse practically hurtled down the path. Though the ordeal with the horses had only lasted a few seconds, to Anselm it seemed so much longer. Angels don't really have such a sense of time, but being a guardian angel, sometimes the things that happen to his charge made Anselm have worried bursts that did things like that. Having watched Frank all the boy's life, Anselm had an almost parental affection and love for him.

Onward they pressed, ducking out of the way of low-lying branches. Frank chanced a look back. At first glance, it looked clear, but he could soon make out the dark forms of the pursuing riders. They were gaining! Slowly, but surely, the posse of men behind them were gaining.

"They're catching up!" Frank cried.

Anselm didn't look back as he answered, "Most likely because we're riding double."

"Can't we go faster?"

"We're on a horse. Unlike cars, they have a very low limit of speed. I can't push him any harder," Anselm replied, surprisingly patient.

Something whizzed by them, so close that they could both feel and hear it. Another one came, nicking Frank's leg.

"Arrows!" Anselm yelled.

A bend came in the path and ass they made the turn, Frank could see a clearing ahead. Suddenly, the horse jerked violently and fell to its side. On instinct, both angel and human jumped off as the horse landed, two big shafts buried into its shoulder. It was dead.

Frank was allowed only a moment's pity for the horse, for Anselm began pulling him toward the clearing as soon as they had both gotten to their feet. It only took a few seconds for Frank to hear the approaching hooves thundering louder and louder.

The angel and his charge reached the clearing and searched wildly about, looking for some hiding place. But there was nothing. Anselm drew his sword and shoved it into Frank's hand.

"You're going to need this," he said, pulling out his bow and taking an arrow out of his quiver.

With grim expressions they waited. Within seconds, the first three riders came through, and within seconds, three arrows sang as they hurtled toward the targets in rapid succession. Anselm's aim was flawless. Three men fell to the ground, pierced to their hearts. More men came, and though some of them were also shot, the remaining soldiers quickly dismounted and drew their weapons.

Frank steeled himself as the men charged towards them. He didn't count how many, he couldn't even estimate how many. All he could do was stand there. The first man swung his sword in a downward arc.

Almost without thinking, Frank blocked the blow and slashed at the man's arm with his hunting knife. His opponent screamed in pain and backed away. That was all the opening Frank needed. He thrust forward quickly, stabbing the man in the chest.

The man didn't fall but dissolved into a black mist, remaining only for a minute before disappearing into nothing. Frank didn't have time to dwell on this before turning to face another minion.

Anselm was doing an incredible job for someone without a blade. He had just enough time to shoot off one more shaft when the soldiers started to close in. With relief, he noticed that only one of the men had engaged Frank, while two attacked him.

Swiftly, he took out two more shafts and held them were the arrow heads pointed in opposite directions, his hands grasping both fletching. Facing his opponents, he smiled slightly. He always did enjoy how it took most of the enemy to face him or another angel. This is why he put his trust in the Lord!

The first one swung, and Anselm ducked easily, bringing his bow crashing down on the other's head. As the man fell, Anselm slashed one arrow point across his throat. The second man thrust forward, causing Anselm to step sideways. He dealt a stunning blow to the man's hand, making him gasp in pain and drop the sword. With a downward plunge, the angel stabbed the man in the neck before spinning around and stabbing another in the throat.

Frank had killed two others, his training with Anselm and Pelagius paying off. Now, two more were facing him, their eyes shining with sinister delight. Both swung their blades simultaneously and, not for the first time, Frank was thankful for his knife. He blocked the blows and twisted out of the path of their second blows.

Dropping, he swung his legs around, tripping his opponents. One fell towards him, so Frank quickly pointed his blade up, impaling man's body. The second man began to rise, groping for his weapon. Frank ran forward and knocked him flat again, this time stabbing him in the chest. As he got to his feet, Frank suddenly felt a very dark shadow fall upon him. He turned slowly, almost feeling as if he shouldn't.

Anselm's bow had had been chopped in half, the string still in tact. He still fought with the arrows in one hand, but now, he held one half of the bow in his other hand, swinging it around where the other half would flail on the other side of the string as an improvised mace.

The angel was wounded in several places but kept on fighting. Covered in blood, both his own and his enemy's, Anselm slashed, stabbed, and swung his way through the fray, trying to make his way to Frank. He suddenly paused for, a feeling of dread washing over him. He caught a glimpse of his charge, and what he saw chilled him to the bone. A message flashed through his mind. _'Go!' _Without warning a hard object, came crashing down on his skull.

When Frank turned, he faced the biggest of the men. He slowly lowered his sword, looking into the other's eyes. This man was so strange; his body was constantly changing. Gaping wounds would appear and disappear here and there-holes in his head, chest, legs, arms. Sometimes a limb would be missing, savagely torn off, or cleanly cut. Even his neck would sometimes appear to be separated from his body, or broken. But then, he would appear to have no obvious injury. He would suddenly pale, sometimes appear young, sometimes old.

"Hello, Frank." When he spoke, his voice was low, quiet, deadly, and inviting. He stretched out his hand. "Come with me. It will be fine."

Frank's eyes flicked to the hand. He felt sleepy. He raised his hand, intending to accept the offering. Then he hesitated. His hand stopped, his gaze faltered, he looked a little more awake. Did he want to do this?

Death wasn't, however, particularly fond of waiting. With a small growl, Morte grabbed Frank's hand and the wrapped his fingers around Frank's throat. A wicked smile spread across his face as the grip tightened. Frank dropped the sword and tried to loosen Morte's hand. A disturbing laugh emitted from Morte's mouth, and there was a flash of steel and a pained, strangled cry as he stabbed a knife into Frank's body. Morte's face suddenly took on a look very similar to the boys.

* * *

The machines caught a sudden change, as Frank's breathing and his pulse lost their rhythm. Dr. Hanson and numerous nurses rushed into the room, trying to make sense of things. The doctor looked from the computer to Frank again and again.

"Why isn't he waking?" Dr. Hanson muttered anxiously.

The Hardys exchanged worried glances. What was going on?

All of the sudden Frank stopped breathing. The beeping from the heart monitor turned into an annoying, continuous, high-pitched drone. Laura let out a strangled gasp and Fenton pulled her closer. Joe stood, unsure of what to do. Dr. Hanson wasted no time.

"Get the defibrillator!" He ordered, immediately starting the pump Frank's chest with his hands.

Down the hall, a hurried rumbling said that the machine was on its way. But the Hardys didn't notice this. The only thing they focused on was the pale, non-breathing form of Frank, as Dr. Hanson tried to get his heart started again.

A brilliant light suddenly flashed, and Morte's minions were flung every which way. A bright sword darted this way and that. The white figure hurled its way toward Morte. Frank was practically hanging from Morte's arm, his head lolling slightly to one side, the knife still in his stomach. When Morte saw the angel coming, he released his grip.

Anselm caught Frank as he was falling. Grasping for the small hilt, he withdrew the knife. Frank's eyes flew open.

"Clear!" The defibrillator was charged.

Beep…beep...beep…

They all looked up, startled. Then they all looked down at Frank. His chest was rising and falling gently, he was breathing. Unbelieving, Dr. Hanson checked the pulse. It was there.

"Doctor?" He looked up at the sound of Mr. Hardy's voice.

"He's alive, but he's still in the coma. I don't mean to worry you even more, but he should be awake."

Fenton looked at Dr. Hanson, confused. "What do you mean?"

Hanson took a deep breath before continuing. "When the patient's heart stops beating, and they stop breathing, they're dead. So, when the heart stops again, they ought to wake up. These cases don't happen often but, when they do, the patient usually dies."

The silence was heavy, almost suffocating.

Fenton was the first to find his voice. "Usually?"

"There have been several recorded cases like this. However, only a very small number of the patients have lived. Basically, it's not expected for the patient to survive."

* * *

Frank was trying to breathe calmly and smoothly, but his lungs didn't really want to cooperate. The knife had left a deep wound that was affecting him greatly. His breath came in short gasps, and it didn't help that Anselm was pulling him through the men. One hand was covering the wound while the other was on Anselm's shoulder for support.

The angel took up the sword from where it lay on the ground, using it to ward off the men as they crowded around the pair, intending to finish them off.

As soon as they got through, Anselm turned around to face the enemy. Frank also turned, out of loyalty more than anything else, figuring that he could go down fighting some way or another.

"No, Frank! Don't stay!" the angel cried.

Despite his pain and discomfort, Frank retorted, "No way am I gonna leave you!"

Anselm was almost savage when he turned to push him away. "You are not staying! Run! Go! You need to leave, I'll catch up!"

Frank, surprised by the push and the tone, took a step back. "But I can't leave you alone!"

"Yes, you can! Who's the guardian here, anyway? Now, go!" The insistence in Anselm's voice was commanding to a degree that Frank couldn't ignore. He stumbled away, but a glance from Anselm sent him running as quickly as possible.

Frank looked back. He almost couldn't see Anselm for the men surrounding him but, in the middle of the fray, a light could be seen getting brighter and brighter. Turning away, Frank ran on. He reached the trees at the other side of the clearing, staying close by the path but not on it. He ducked and dodged through the trees, making a confusing trail and avoiding low branches. To his right, leaves crackled and a twig napped. Frank bumped into a tree as he jerked his head to see it. He was just in time to see the white tail of a deer.

Frank leaned his head against the trunk, each breath coming in shivering gasps. Oh how he wanted to lay down and rest, let his weariness take him away to the fantasy world of dreams. His hand reached for his wound, as he winced in pain. Warm, sticky liquid touched his fingers. He looked down at the red covering his hand. Moaning, he now more than ever wanted to stop, but he couldn't.

Pushing off the tree, Frank started running again. His vision was becoming blurry, and his feet were beginning to stumble, but he pushed on. He ran into a web, a fly wrapped in the middle. Disgusted, he tried to wipe it away, however, his mind didn't seem to want to work on that many things. He only succeeded in getting the fly and spider off.

Onward he ran, stumbling and tripping over roots and rocks, but never stopping. A squirrel darted before him, he didn't stop. Bugs attacked him, he didn't stop. He ran into more webs, he didn't stop. His lungs were on fire, his legs felt like lead, but still, he didn't stop.

He did not know how long he ran. But it was too long. Finally, exhaustion took over, and the next time he stumbled and fell, he didn't get up. Frank lay there, gasping for breath, whimpering in pain. He rolled to his side and curled up slightly, hand clutching the wound. A creek gurgled happily nearby, causing Frank to open his eyes as if to somehow draw it to him. No batter how hard he tried, he couldn't will himself to move.

"When I told you to run, I didn't mean 'kill yourself with exhaustion.'"

An extra burst of adrenaline enabled Frank to squirm into a sitting position at the sound of the voice. "Anselm!"

The angel laughed as he sat down next to Frank. Anselm looked just like he did the day they first met. The dirt and sweat gone. The blood was gone. His wounds were gone. He looked as if he had just bathed. No trace of the fight was visible.

Still breathing hard, Frank asked, "How did you get here so fast? What happened?"

Anselm smiled. "I'm an angel. Our ways of traveling are often quite different than you humans have. God helped me. What else could have happened?"

A smile slowly started to seep across Frank's tired and dirty features. Then he started to laugh which was cut short with a gasp of pain.

Anselm's own smile quickly disappeared as he said, "Let me see."

Frank willingly obliged, lifting his tunic. The wound hadn't closed, but the blood flow had slowed considerably.

Anselm pulled Frank up. "Come. We'll wash it with the brook's water."

Standing up, Frank saw that the brook was closer than he first supposed it to be. Leaning on Anselm, he found walking much easier but no less painful. Getting there, though it wasn't very far, seemed like an eternity to him. If he wasn't so thirsty, he would've asked Anselm to let him lay down and sleep, but he also knew that the angel would never comply.

"Here we are," Anselm announced, gently letting him back down.

A few minutes later found Anselm gently laying his simple poultice over the knife wound. Beside him, a little fire warmed both angel and human. Frank was staring off into space, moving only when he felt sleep overcoming him. They both were glad to hear the birds singing again, and to see bugs here and there, while squirrels chased each other about. With the sun shining overhead and the brook running its course beside them, it was almost as if nothing had happened.

Sighing, Anselm wiped the knife clean of Frank's blood with a wet rag. When he had reached Frank, Morte had already begun to look like Frank-pale, a hole in the neck, a cut on the head, and young. For one moment, he had thought that it was Frank's time, but then he was called to action. Anselm was exceedingly thankful that his angelic form had been allowed, for he wouldn't have reached Frank in time.

He looked back at the knife. Morte covered his blades in slow acting poison, so, unless the Father intervened, the victims would die.

"Anselm?"

He turned to face Frank. "Yes?"

"Am I going to die?"

Anselm looked at him, startled. Frank was still looking off into space while trying to ward off sleep.

Taking a deep breath, Anselm said, "Why do you ask?"

"I just had a feeling. I thought I saw a bright light when Morte had me. Was that Heaven?" Frank turned to look at Anselm. His dark eyes serious.

After a moment, Anselm answered, "It could have been." He laughed. "That's actually quite interesting. Since that's how they always describe it in movies. 'There was a dark tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel, I saw a bright light!'"

Frank laughed and winced in pain. "Ow! That's just about what they say. That's funny, I just can't imagine an angel watching a movie."

"We are with our charges all the time. We don't really have a choice in the matter."

Frank smiled and fell silent again. Anselm looked in the same direction as Frank. There wasn't much. On the other side of the brook were trees, lined up against the bank, and seemingly half-hazardly placed beyond. A few forest animals could be seen scampering about. It was peaceful.

"This is gonna sound stupid," Frank began, looking at Anselm.

"Why is that?"

"Because. I suppose I'll like Heaven."

Anselm smiled. "You'll love Heaven. And that didn't sound stupid."

Frank returned the smile. "Good. Of course you don't think it sounds stupid. You're my guardian angel which automatically makes you patronizing."

The angel laughed. "I said that not because I'm patronizing, but because it's just not stupid. Most people are afraid to go to Heaven, so it's understandable that you're hesitant."

"It's not that I'm worried Heaven will be boring. It's…I guess that I felt that I needed reassuring."

"Ah. Of course."

Frank hummed back quietly, too tired to continue the conversation.

The boy settled down, his eyes drooping shut. That faint warning, _'You mustn't sleep!'_ flitted through his mind. He remembered why he shouldn't sleep, but he was so tired.

Still, he wanted to say one thing before dropping off. "You know, Anselm, you never did say when you were going to tell me of all those moments you rescued me."

"I didn't, did I?" Anselm said faintly. "I decided to wait until you came home to Heaven."

"Oh," Frank replied drowsily. "When will that be?"

Anselm was about to keep him awake, when he got the message. "Soon, Frank, very soon."

Frank managed to hum a yes before his tired eyes shut. The darkness welcomed him like an old friend only for a moment. Frank opened his eyes again and was greeted with a bright light.

**

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Review?


	15. Epilogue

**Alas, here is the final installment of Death and a Guardian Angel. It's been so much fun, and thank you all sooooo much for reviewing, you have no idea how much that means to me. And, thanks bunches and bunches to my beta: Ilada Jefiv. You have helped me improve a lot.**

* * *

Above, black clouds had gathered. As if they too felt emotion, their drops of rain fell like tears. Was the whole world crying? What other deaths had happened as of late? The sorrows of the skies so often matched the sorrows of the people. Often, I did not hear the glorious laughter of children on such days. And there was no such merriment beneath the black, mourning umbrellas. Even they seem to weep as the water fell from their edges.

Near me, a blonde young man looked up, letting the rain hit his face. He exhaled, a light mist in the cold air. His clothes were soaked, his coat now useless, he started to shiver. But he didn't seem to care.

"Joe!" His brother, my charge, said. "Unless they have suddenly sprouted wings, we will not find them in the sky!"

"Frank, what you see, is not me looking up to skies in case they can fly, but me looking up into the skies with an expression of frustration."

"Frustration?"

"Yeah! How do you suppose we're going to find them out here in the street?"

Frank looked around. Only a few people were braving the side walks, their umbrellas guarding their bodies from the wet. A girl dashed by, holding her purse over her head.

Beside me, Malachi chuckled. _"I can see Kenan and Jared ahead."_

I turned my gaze in the same direction and saw our fellow guardian angels. Kenan looks back and decides to imitate a child. With a huge grin, he hops up and down, waving one arm high in the air, and begins to shout our names. All the angels in the area burst into a concerto of laughter. Kenan is none too happy with the choices his charge has made, but that doesn't stop his joy from bubbling over.

It was actually quite ironic that Kenan chose such a gesture at that moment, because right in the middle of our laughter, Joe shouted, "There they are!"

The other men started, one slipping on the wet ground in his haste to get away. Frank and Joe gave chase, dodging people and keeping the men in their sight. As Malachi and I followed closely, we saw the men reach into their coats.

Exchanging glances, we had the same thoughts-guns! The men turned a corner, Frank and Joe struggling to keep up. If we were in physical bodies, our vision would've been hindered by the rain. But since we weren't, we saw the men disappear into an alley.

"_Anselm! Malachi!"_ Jared yelled. _"They're getting ready to ambush your boys."_

A message flicked through my mind, and it wasn't until I was standing by the alley entrance getting soaked that I saw Malachi had gotten the same message also, and I realized that we had gained our physical bodies.

I lifted my face, much like Joe had done before. _"Ah, rain. It's so wonderful, but I do no like the cold that comes with it."_

"_I agree, Anselm. I sympathize with the humans for this,"_ Malachi said.

I looked toward the boys. They were fast, even in the rain. A warning flashed through my mind, and Malachi touched my arm, a sure sign that he received the same message. We started walking in the same direction that the boys are running. The wet pounding of the boys running feet came closer and grew louder. I tensed.

'_Now!'_ in one instant the boys pulled ahead of us, we glanced into the alley, and the men pulled the triggers. Malachi and I lunged forward, tackling the boys as the guns fired. As we fell to the ground, I glimpsed running legs come out of the alley and head down the street. We all grunted with pain when we hit the wet concrete.

After a moment, Frank began wriggling beneath me, trying to get up. I quickly rolled off and began helping him up. "Are you okay?"

Rubbing his elbow, Frank replied, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Were those gunshots? Were they firing at us?" asked a now standing Joe.

"Yup," Malachi answered. "Aimed right for you guys. We saw them just in time."

The boys glanced at each other and began thanking us profusely. As Frank turned to me, he paused, his face indicating that he thought he recognized me. I just smiled back.

"Frank," Joe tugged his arm. "We better go, before they're too far ahead."

Frank absently pushed his brother's hand away. "Uh, yeah, Joe. Be right there."

I nodded. "He's right. They're probably not going to take any chances."

"Do you boys want some help?" Malachi offered.

Frank looked sharply at him, snapping out of his previous thoughts. "No thanks. We should be able to handle them."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Frank began walking away. "Besides, they've been running longer than we have. Hopefully, they'll tire out sooner."

With that, both boys turned and ran down the street. As they turned the next corner, we were back in our angel forms, right beside them. Though I was watching Frank, I could see Joe's worried glances in my charge's direction.

"_He's thinking the same thing you were, I'll wager." _Malachi commented.

I emitted a short laugh. _"Most likely. It's been two months since the incident, but it will take time for the memory to fade."_

"_Hmm. I must admit, even for me, Joe's expression when Frank died is still vivid in my mind."_

"_Yes. And then their expressions when he awoke. Such relief!"_

Further conversation was eliminated when we rounded a corner and literally ran into the men. Cries of surprise mingled with grunts of pain and bodies hitting the ground. The impending fight began as soon as everyone started to regain their footing. The struggle was brief, but violent nonetheless.

Kenan had to shift a garbage can and give his charge a nudge toward it so the man wouldn't crack his head open on a concrete step. Malachi pulled Joe back enough for the boy to stumble into a street light when a blow sent him reeling back, slightly stunned, so he wouldn't fall into a deep puddle and drown.

Within minutes, the boys were calling the police to pick up the now senseless men. Frank had a cut lip and a rapidly forming black eye. Joe received a beautiful bruise on the jaw, and his cheek had been cut just below the eye.

"So," Frank began, trying to catch his breath. "other than the obvious, you okay?"

"Yeah," said Joe. "I'm fine. You?"

Frank nodded, "Well, I'm cold, wet, tired, and hungry. My eye is probably swelling, and my lip smarts. So, yeah, I'm good."

Joe chuckled.

After a moment of silence, Frank asked, "You know those two men back there? The ones that tackled us?"

"Yeah."

"Did you recognize them?"

Joe thought for a moment. "No. Why?"

Frank shrugged. "I thought I did. Or at least the guy who had me."

Joe looked at Frank, eyebrows raised. "Okay. But I'm pretty sure we've never ever come across those guys before. Though we may have seen them in the streets before. They were pretty average."

The way he was looking across the street, it was pretty clear that Frank had gotten lost in his own thoughts. He muttered one name. "Anselm."

Jared and Kenan gave me bemused looks.

"_I'll have to tell you later," _I said.

They nodded understandably.

Joe was confused. "Anselm?"

Frank looked up quickly, slightly embarrassed. "It's a long story."

While Joe dubiously nodded, Malachi nudged me._ "They're onto you."_

I smiled back. _"My cover's been blown."_

Frank turned to Joe. "Can you watch them? I wanna check something."

Joe looked at Frank then at the unconscious men. "Unless they're faking this, I'll be fine."

Frank took off jogging back around the corner and down the street. Rounding the next corner, he looked about. After a minute or so, he shook his head and went back. I knew he hadn't seen me again, as I wasn't allowed a human form again that day.

Joe looked up as we approached. "Lookin' for those men?"

Frank nodded.

"Find 'em?"

Frank shook his head.

Sirens caused them to look up.

Malachi sighed. _"Just another day in the life of Frank and Joe Hardy."_

I nodded.

"_Hey, I shouldn't need to remind you that you two will talk again."_

I laughed. _"I know."_ I added to Frank, _"And then, Frank, I'll tell of more adventures in your life regarding death and your guardian angel."_

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**Oh, the light at the end of the last chappie? Yeah, that was a hospital light. One last time, Review? -Jimmy Candlestick**


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